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MONTANO. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a
soldier.
IAGO. Some wine, ho!

[Sings.] "And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink.
A soldier's a man;
O, man's life's but a span;
Why then let a soldier drink."

Some wine, boys!
CASSIO. 'Fore God, an excellent song.
IAGO. I learned it in England, where indeed they are most
potent in
potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied
Hollander-
Drink, ho!- are nothing to your English.
CASSIO. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?
IAGO. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he
sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander
a
vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.
CASSIO. To the health of our general!
MONTANO. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.
IAGO. O sweet England!

[Sings.] "King Stephen was and-a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he call'd the tailor lown.

"He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree.
'Tis pride that pulls the country down;
Then take thine auld cloak about thee."

Some wine, ho!
CASSIO. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.
IAGO. Will you hear't again?
CASSIO. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that
does
those things. Well, God's above all, and there be souls must
be
saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
IAGO. It's true, good lieutenant.
CASSIO. For mine own part- no offense to the general, nor any
man
of quality- I hope to be saved.
IAGO. And so do I too, lieutenant.
CASSIO. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant
is to
be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this;
let's to
our affairs. God forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let's look
to
our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my
ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not
drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.
ALL. Excellent well.
CASSIO. Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am
drunk.
Exit.
MONTANO. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch.
IAGO. You see this fellow that is gone before;
He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar
And give direction. And do but see his vice;
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
The one as long as the other. 'Tis pity of him.
I fear the trust Othello puts him in
On some odd time of his infirmity
Will shake this island.
MONTANO. But is he often thus?
IAGO. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep.

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